


Accord

by harper_m



Category: Justified
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harper_m/pseuds/harper_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winona and Ava reach an accord about Raylan that's maybe just as much about them as it is about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accord

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fireworks 12: The [Totally Not] Annual femslash_today Porn Battle. Prompt: whiskey. Takes place post S3.

There’s something flinty about Ava’s eyes, and Winona wonders if they haven’t already moved past this. It’s been a long time, and Ava’s moved on. She’s better for it, Winona thinks; Raylan is a good man, but he’s sure as hell not good for anyone.

“You’re a long way from home,” Ava says. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest, and she’s not the Ava that Winona remembers. She doesn’t really remember that much of her, just sundresses and the kind of girlish neediness that Raylan seems to inspire, but she’s not the damsel in distress now. Now, she’s hard. Muscles flex in her forearms, and there’s something threatening about it. She’s poised to strike, dangerous and self-assured, feet firmly rooted on her home turf.

“I want to talk to you.”

Ava’s still for a moment, like she’s considering it. She nods, finally, a little jerk of the head. It’s grudgingly acquiescent, like she’s a busy woman with not much time to spare, and cutting loose a little of it for Winona is a sacrifice.

“You want something to drink?” she asks.

Ava’s head tilts back, indicating the bottles lined up on the wall behind her. Winona’s hand falls to her stomach unconsciously, thinking of the baby and all of the stories she’s read on ways she can fuck it up. She shakes her head no and Ava shrugs, pulling a glass from underneath the counter for herself. She pours a splash of whiskey, sweetens it with a little Coke, and takes a sip.

Winona swallows hard. This was never going to be an easy conversation, but something about the way Ava is watching her makes her want to tuck tail and run.

“Can we go somewhere a little more private?” she asks. It’s midafternoon and the bar’s mostly empty. Two men in full camo are drinking in the corner, hats pushed back, conversation low, but Winona wants to do this in a way that’s just between them.

Ava gives her a look and shrugs, picking up her glass. “Sure,” she says, another request granted.

The room is like the rest of the bar, with roughhewn walls and rickety furniture. Winona settles uneasily onto the couch and Ava pulls up a chair. She looks incongruously dainty and proper, with her legs crossed and her glass dangling from her hand, back straight and attention full on Winona.

“So, Winona, why are you here?”

“He needs someone to keep him safe.”

She’d thought she’d start with something a little easier, but Ava doesn’t look like she’s willing to waste time getting to the heart of the matter. So Winona does, mind flashing back to the last time she’d seen Raylan. He’d been perfecting tortured as long as she’d known him, but this had been different. This had been apathy. He’d walked out of her sister’s house a man careless about his own future, with one blow too many finally blowing wide the crack in his stubborn will to persist just to spite.

Winona’s not entrenched in Harlan politics, but there are things she knows. She knows things in the holler are a country ballad waiting to happen, all flawed men propped up by strong women and a skewed code of honor honed over decades of hardscrabble survival. She knows Raylan has the kind of relationship with Boyd Crowder that means they can’t turn away from one another, no matter how much they’d like. And Boyd might be on the mend, might be patiently riding out an investigation in the county jail, but he’s slippery. He’ll be out and back, as fundamentally unchanged as ever, and Raylan’s going to need him.

“I’m afraid we don’t offer bodyguard services,” Ava says, something sweet and sharp in her voice. “And I figure Raylan’s of the opinion he can take care of himself.”

They had something once, Raylan and Ava, and maybe she’s not let it go. Maybe she’s still bitter, and holding on to what could have been if Winona hadn’t stolen it away from her.

Ava’s lips twist into a sneer. She rotates the glass in her hand, ice cubs clinking. “And your memory must be faulty if you think I’m going to help you.”

Winona straightens. This is more important than petty bullshit, than backstabbing one another over a man neither of them was ever really going to get to have.

“He did right by you,” Winona says, voice low. “He’s a good man, and you know it, but he’ll never ask for help and trust me, he needs it. I’m sure you owe him this, at least. And if you don’t feel like you do, then consider it a favor I’ll owe you.”

Ava laughs, and Winona wants to hit her.

“This must be why he chose you,” she says, rising. She’s towering over Winona; her face is all hard angles framed by long blonde hair, with the kind of eyes that go colorless with anger. Winona knows it’s a show of power, and Ava’s waiting for it to be matched. There’s no sense in that, though, because Ava would win. They both know it. Winona’s here with hope and a sense of responsibility buoying her courage, but she’s never been hard enough to be a part of this world.

Ava draws closer to her and crouches down. They’re eye to eye now, and Winona forces herself to stay in the game. She holds Ava’s gaze, waiting, but she can feel her hands trembling.

“Please,” she says, but she’s got to pay penance. Ava’s not there yet, to forgiveness and acquiescence, but she loses some of her anger at the word.

“You’re pretty enough, I guess,” she says, taking a lock of Winona’s hair between her fingers. She rubs it, eyes focused on her own movements, then smooths it behind Winona’s ear, letting her fingers run down Winona’s jaw. “We couldn’t be more different.”

Winona remembers Ava in her sundresses and wonders when she acquired the eyes of a predator. She’s confident and sure, and she’s going to make sure Winona knows that there’s a food chain here, and Winona’s at the bottom of it. Which, fine. She’d known it wasn’t going to be easy, coming here. There’s a frisson of fear running down her spine, but Ava’s not going to hurt her. She’s going to flex a little muscle, but she’s not going to hurt.

That isn’t to say she isn’t startled by the press of Ava’s lips against hers. They’re surprisingly soft, and she can just taste the sting of whiskey on them. Winona stills, lets Ava have this moment. She follows her lead, not even needing the pressure of Ava’s hand on her jaw to keep her in place.

Ava leans back, licks her lips. Her eyes are hooded now, bright in a way that takes the fear running down Winona’s spine and twists it into something else. She brings her glass to her lips, drains it, and sets it down deliberately.

This isn’t what she meant, but if this is the favor Ava intends to extract, Winona’s willing to give it.

“Wouldn’t Boyd mind?” she asks, because the charge in the air is clear. She feels herself giving into it, wondering if it’s innate, if she’s always drawn to a hint of darkness barely suppressed.

“This?” Ava asks, smirking. “Oh, I don’t think he would.”

The fabric of the couch is scratchy against her skin, but Winona’s got other things on her mind. Ava’s on top of her with a move as liquid as the whiskey in her glass. Her hair is silky under Winona’s fingertips. She’d expected Ava to overwhelm, to kiss with the kind of hard pressure meant to subdue. Instead, her kisses are deep, languid, like they’re lovers hidden away from the world. She’s still proving a point, but she’s got other aims in mind.

Winona doesn’t protest when Ava stretches her arms above her head, pinning her wrists there with one hand. She wonders what she looks like, looking up at Ava, chest heaving and eyes wide. It’s hard to tell what Ava wants, because the fingers on her wrists are cruel, but the way Ava’s rocking their hips together is nothing but a tease. If she’d been prescient, she would have imagined the sharp edge of teeth and touches designed to bruise, but instead, Ava’s tracing the line of her brow, expression almost indulgent.

And then, this is what she expected, Winona thinks. Ava’s hand moves between her legs, slips up under the loose hem of her dress. Her palm is scorching hot against Winona’s thigh, moving upward like Ava has a right to what she’s about to take. A second later, and Ava’s smiling down at her, lips and eyes wicked.

“Why, Winona,” she says, voice a mocking prim and proper, “I do believe you want this.”

She wants to close her eyes, but she doesn’t. She’s not going to give Ava the pleasure. Instead, she spreads her legs a little wider, chin jutting up. Yes, she’s wet. She’s soaked through her panties, she’s sure, and the way Ava is tracing light circles against them isn’t helping, but she’ll be damned if she acts like she’s embarrassed about it.

“Just so you know,” Ava says, leaning down to kiss her again, “this is going to go both ways.”

Her fingers are against Winona’s skin now, and Winona can’t help it. She keens, hips jerking upward toward the touch. Ava’s still making her point. It’s in the slide of her fingers inside Winona, in the way she’s holding back, watching Winona writhe underneath her. She’s going to fuck Winona slow and steady, always in control, and Winona’s going to let her.

Other times, Winona might beg. She might gasp out a please or faster or harder, but not now. She grits her teeth, refuses to say the words. Ava’s movements are slow and lazy, her fingers pressing hard against the place inside Winona that makes her want to scream. Her thumb is on Winona’s clit, moving against her like it’s an afterthought. It’s clear in the way Ava’s watching her. If she wants it, she’s going to have to work for it.

She can play that game, Winona decides. She arches up, searching, and her hips roll into Ava’s touch. If Ava doesn’t want to give her release, she’ll take it.

The room is stifling. Winona feels a bead of sweat trickle down her back, and the game’s turned serious. She’s got her lower lip between her teeth, because the words are aching on her tongue. Please, she wants to say, because she’s so close she can taste it. She’s losing control, losing her rhythm, at that place where her body reacts in ways she can’t predict. Her abs are straining, and she wants so much to bury her hands in Ava’s hair, pull the other woman to her. She wants Ava’s lips on hers, wants to dig her fingers into Ava’s shoulders and push herself up against Ava’s body until there’s not a speck of space between them.

Ava’s watching her as she goes over, moaning, twitching against her. After, she lays there, panting, blinking and swallowing hard. Sound has retreated in favor of the rush of blood roaring through her ears, and she needs Ava’s weight against her. She needs that pressure, that comfort, but this is playing out a different way.

“Come on,” Ava says. Winona’s wrists are free now. Ava’s got one hand buried in the couch cushion, the other fumbling frantically with the button on her jeans. Her head is tilted down, hair falling over her shoulders, and Winona reaches up with trembling fingers to stroke it back.

“Come on,” Ava says again, rearing back on her knees long enough to shove her pants down her thighs. The fabric is tight and they’re both sticky with sweat. It catches, and Ava’s expression grows thunderous. She’s already toeing out of her boots, her movements almost desperate, so Winona reaches down to help. There’s a moment of awkwardness, a moment when the spell breaks and they’re stuck in practicalities. When it’s over, they’re both panting hard, staring at one another. Call a stop to it, Ava’s expression dares.

Winona gives a small shake of her head. This isn’t over. They’re not finished with one another yet.

She’d thought that her hand would find its way between Ava’s legs, that her fingers would slip and slide against wet skin until Ava was the one trembling, but Ava’s got other plans. She’s on top of Winona before Winona even realizes what she intends, and Winona’s breath catches. There’s no ambiguity in what she sees; Ava’s kneeling above her, oddly vulnerable despite the position. She’s a picture Winona could never have imagined, wet and pink and waiting, and she’s never done this before but it can’t be that hard.

Her hands find Ava’s hips and pull her down, and it’s almost better that she hasn’t given herself time to think. She doesn’t have time to worry about whether she’s doing this right, not with Ava so hot against her tongue. She wonders briefly why the men she’s been with didn’t want to do this more often, because it’s… it’s…

Her hands slide down to cup Ava’s ass, and she closes her eyes and lets her other senses take hold. Ava’s making soft, needy noises above her and Winona never would have thought she’d feel powerful in a situation like this, but she does. She’d have thought it would have been a chore, but it’s not. The way Ava tastes, the way she feels against Winona’s tongue – it’s better than good. She’s left wanting a word to describe it, but maybe there’s no word for what this is.

Ava finishes with a soft little cry that echoes around the room. Winona digs her nails into her, surprised that she doesn’t want this to be over.

It’s an interlude, not forever. She knows that.

“We’ll watch over him,” Ava says, kissing the taste of herself off of Winona’s lips; there’s no hint of anything to her smile this time, “but you can still come back to check, any time you want.”

Winona doesn’t agree, say yes, no, or maybe. Instead, she pulls her tongue along Ava’s bottom lip and runs her hands down Ava’s back.

She doesn’t know if she wants that, if more than this once turns this into something that’s all about them and nothing else. She’d thought she’d washed off the last traces of Harlan, but she’ll never be rid of this place, even if she wanted to be.

“We’ll see,” she says finally, reaching up to run her thumb along Ava’s lower lip, this woman another mistake she could add to her tally if she let herself. She knows herself too well to make promises.


End file.
